Moments of relaxation beget moments of reflection. And there, in the pellets of water, steam, heat and whorl, flesh flush and raw, clarity was illustrated in muck, grime, filth, and blood. Befuddled in contrast, thick in taint, and unified in purpose and conviction as Monika surrendered herself to the pressure of luxury. Muscles were knotted beneath translucent skin, unable to cajole and relax beneath the shower's courtesy no matter how much she increased the pressure or heat, enough to make her spirits wail at the temperature even if she could not feel it. Monika twisted knobs, fixated the shower head at an angle, and increased the water pressure to as much as her body would will it. Despite the feminine figures dancing in her peripheral, all she could see was that grin laced thick in cocky assurance, a blatant challenge to her words muttered in the deployment garages. All crooked bone displayed proudly through the gunk that surrounded this swollen, mirth riddled simper that dug a path down to the centre of her hubris.
The blood, the slick carmine on his face, the flutter of a lash and his words boring into the wound created by the flicker of teeth.
I think I hate him, her mind aggressively snarls. Monika slowly slid her head back at that, the weight of her tresses pulling on her neck, weighing down against the water-slick path of her spine as the heat, high as it could be put to, created thick weaves of steam heavenward. The entire facilities were chrome finish and steel, all uniforms silvers and blacks in the lower decks of the Nautilus. She had been aboard Mobile Operation Vehicles before, typical runs on diagnostics, learning the frame work of each to better protect and guard them against threat. Simulations adhered to this knowledge, she thought, briefly allowing her memory to pool and flex against the previous battle with the Mordrem next. Reality paled in comparison to the false projections of digital frequencies, and the power and force behind her blows was sheer testimony to the recoil possessed from her holiest of graces. Her pools of ice and steel fled down to her cinched fist, slowly plying the fingers apart, witnessing the crescent mouths smiling in her palm from the pressure of her nails. Olivia had smirked and hinted the need for adjustment, coyly and beautiful, but she had not known the true wrath of those vulpine feathered creatures. Monika could see the rising smog from her skin, the coolness of her flesh battling against the onslaught of the shower.
They had an hour of luxury and punctuality was an eternal practice of the perfectionist. Almost aggressively Monika turned the tabs, cutting off the shower with her palm slapping against the fogged glass where a towel was flung over and immediately grasped to snag around her middle. Her knotted muscles would work out with intermediate stretches, her fingers working quickly to knot the towel into security before she swiped the steam from a silver mirror. She was not a vain creature, but Monika's eyes traveled carefully in scrutiny over her bearings, the gatherings of her dark hair over her shoulder, heavy and wet and slick against her flushed skin. Her palms gathered the mass into her gesture, piling the tresses high and securing most of the excess with a band that had, surprisingly, been preserved around her slight wrist during the battle.
It was only then, when the last of those threads were stilled into place that she heard the penetrating raps against the door from the foyer, sharp sounds against metal and steel. Monika's brow furrowed before she approached, mindful of her current grace before she punched in a few keys, the intercom fixated to the lower suites blooming to life in azure and a quick panning scan revealed Nicholas and that caused the droop of her brow to increase, confusion glimmering over her countenance before she pinged in the series of numbers to allow him entry.
"Yes?" She inquired once the door swiftly plied open, the sound soft and quick as she regarded one of her many sparring combatants.
Niko jerked a bit, deciding in a split-second moment if he could get away with gawking just a little or completely averting his attention to the icy face above the partially exposed graces of his some-of-the-time sparring partner; common sensibilities shifted his gaze quickly to the confused expression waiting to meet his own pleasantly surprised countenance. This, especially when concerning Monika, would always be the wisest choice. A small breath sifted through a thin crevasse formed of slightly pursed lips before the courage was finally abundant enough to push forth spoken words.
"There's... There's something I want to ask you about," he said with a quiet sort of intensity. His head drooped a bit and he looked elsewhere in a gesture indicative of nervousness.
E a r l i e r
The sting and stab of pressurized water stream fell harshly against the still overly sensitive bare skin and rapidly forming bruises. Niko stood under the heated liquid of the shower head, palms against the slick wall in front of him and upper body bent over just slightly enough to allow the water to run down the backside of his torso. Thin ribbons of blood slid down his calves and spiraled into the drain with the current flow under his feet and the biting pain of small cuts scattered about gnawed at patches of red skin. The adrenaline had been so high during the battle that the young Guardian had not noticed that he had indeed suffered minor damage from rolling around on rocks and even getting grazed by a claw or two. Simulations still held no true preparatory qualities for the real ebb and flow of tactical combat - to be expected, however. Pushing off the wall, Niko stood to his full height and let the full force of the water rain down on him. He was not thinking of the battle and his mistakes at the moment. He had become intrigued by a sight seen just near the end.
It was only a short ten minutes later that a half clothed Niko was drying off. Dark jeans and shoes already covered his lower body, but he was still lazily working on his upper back and hair while staring at nothing in particular. His mind was preoccupied. His time at the Cathedral had taught him many things about the world, but his overseers had also shown him an intense interest in the power of spirits. During down times, he would read whatever he could on matters of the spirits in an effort to learn as much as possible. The battle against the beastly Mordrem had shown him real power in practice and he had to know more - to know more of Monika. Pulling on a plain white t-shirt and black vest, Niko threw down the towel and grabbed his gear before quickly leaving his room. The only way one could learn was to inquire, after all.
Monika's perpetually lax and severe brow rose just a few increments, enough to illustrate a mute perplexity and curious notion before her lips conformed into a slight simper; a twisted shift of lips over teeth that lifted to mimic the graces of a befuddled consensus.
"I see," she gracefully relinquished her station by the door, gesturing within the foyer of impersonal aesthetics befitting to these lower domiciles, and retreated on her barren heel to step into the adjacent lavatory. Her following silence punctuated the air, suspended as a mute gesticulation with only the rustle of her cloth and cotton following the frigid whisper.
"Does this concern the meeting, or the mission? Considering you've come to my room." Monika later proposed, a twinge of fluster colouring her usual accent.
As she turned on her heels, Niko caught himself beginning to admire once more - her contour really was a sight to behold, he thought briefly before shaking the ill-advised murmurings of a man's mind away for the moment. He followed his host into the depths of her personal living quarters, the automatic door whooshing shut behind him and the brightness of her lights temporarily causing an involuntary squint and adjustment of the pupils. He almost absent-mindedly followed her hanging towel into the lavatory, but a sharp realization followed by an equally sharp turn brought him to a small chair situated in the middle of the room amongst a larger couch and coffee table. He laid his blunderbuss on the ground next to the arm of the chair and the sheathed short-sword next to it.
"This concerns the mission," he began, speaking in a slightly elevated tone to make sure Monika could hear him in the adjacent room.
"Your spirits... They're intriguing, to say the least. That ability you used, the one with the massive recoil kick... Just what is that?" Pungent silence resulted from the prose of his inquiry; appalled amazement, wonder, all invitations of bewilderment at something she, herself, could hardly comprehend. Monika refused to answer immediately, busily and methodically smoothing and drying the towel over her arms, legs, torso lined with pale, silvery tissue of puckered memories, before allowing it to fall beneath her feet. Only then, with gauging her vulnerability and modesty in the reflective glass, did she answer.
"What is such a subjective term, Nicholas." The rustle of cloth succeeding her murmur.
"But, if it helps you. . . When I feel them, they're like divine glimmers of absolution, but also vengeance. I cannot fathom their might sometimes, I once tried engaging them in speech, but they don't seem capable of communication other than through those beams of light." Monika peered around the threshold, glancing into the foyer where he had seated himself and briefly began gauging his expressions.
"I don't know if you can see them, but they are like these winged creatures, mortal and vulpine, some form of hybrid existence." She vanished once more, presumably to continue dressing.
"I've never concerned a name, but, there is a whisper of a voice, an appellation that is befitting. I don't know if you're familiar with Anatolian, though." Monika vacated the lavatory, donned in similar threads she wore at Oak Ridge, fitting and taut athletic wear with a loose sheaf of cotton over her front, toned in grey.
"Vergeltung. It means revenge." "Vergeltung. Revenge. Intriguing... " Niko fell into thoughts for a brief moment. His mind swirled around the foreign word and its ominous meaning; the irony was not lost on the boy either. His personal mission could be described in a number of ways, but this Anatolian dialect seemed to fit well. He began to ponder on machinations of a darker origin while a side eye glanced over to the adjacent room where Monika was allegedly dressing. An exhale evaporated into the air followed by a confirming nod to no one in particular. This visit had been fruitful after all and Monika had indeed been the perfect candidate. Niko stood and re-situated his gear on his body once more before strolling over to the wall at the edge of the open door and leaning against, making sure not to peek in. He folded his arms and grinned briefly.
"Sounds like there's a compelling tale to go along with that sort of ability name. You should tell me about it on the way to the meeting," he said.
"I suppose," Monika mused aloud, piling her clothing else where, bloodied and crusted in mud and useless as they were.
It was a brief term of musing and speculation, enough of a proposing conglomerate of thoughts and wonder, that bid Monika's silence and her piercing observation. Having opted for glancing back to the silver mirror with her frigid countenance and expression rigid, a curious notion intrigued her enough to lean closer, lashes fluttered wide, glancing from brow, to lips, to the healing bruise and cuts that had crowned at her temple earlier. She partially anticipated the aforementioned spirits of glimmering absolution and vulpine graces to reappear, bidden and convinced by their conversation and Nicholas' inquiries to their very nature. She could not define it, and she pondered just
what was so intriguing. With a swift gesture, she stepped out from the personal and intimate quarters of her room, finding that Nicholas had moved closer, posed against the wall with an eye carefully adverted.
"A tale? Are you expecting some grand story and revelation how they earned such a name?" Monika observed his profile; shorter than most men of Guardianship, dark hair mussed from towel-dried graces, earthen gazes hosted by a simplistic face with features laden with a brooding fixture. He was leagues different, in comparison, to Graham. Crooked smiles traded in place for a favour of a brief grin, polite and familiar, in vague compositions that Monika could speculate on and peered through the fringe of her lashes. He was different from Ollie as well, lacking that mysterious shell and exterior the archer possessed, but something akin to misplacement, and she vaguely remembered when she first met this boy and helping him personally in those combative scenarios.
"You'll be disappointed if that's the case. They are what they are.. because of how they are. I can only tell you what I feel when they are around. Just like all the others." Monika stepped aside, her sword having taken residency near the door where she grasped it, fingers cinched tight in a vice until she posed it over her slender shoulder, easily balancing the weight as she punched in the series of numbers to unleash the door.
"But," she turned, wisps of ebony tresses coming loose from her piled mass of obsidian hair cutting over her gaze of ice.
"Why are you asking me? Why do you want to know about my spirits?"Niko blinked and pushed himself from the wall casually. Her question was innocent, but Monika had absolutely no idea what she was asking. Making it to graduation had only been the first part of Niko's journey and the real work was still yet to begin.
"I was just... Interested. Your spirits don't strike me the same way as everyone else's. Granted, I know about as much as anyone else when it comes to the spirits," he smirked a bit at the lie as it slid out of his mouth,
"but yours just seem a whole lot more sentient? Or... goal oriented? Like, they're actively working towards a goal in conjunction with your own thoughts maybe?" He chuckled and exhaled. He knew he was making little sense.
"I don't know. Seeing those attacks just kind of perked up my interest. The power behind them seems a lot greater than one could achieve from something like training..." Niko followed the feminine contour to the door and pocketed his hands as his brow furrowed. His gaze hardened for mere seconds as he focused on Monika and tried to visibly pick out some of her spirits. This was not the time, but that time would come. It was only a matter of patience now.
Power.The world was a bedlam of festering truth, of memories, pain, guilt, and soured notes of reflection. The syllables were spoken with such carelessness, tinged in the waning notes of a chortle, a simple enough chuckle that had previously procured a perplexed expression across her rigid grace. She couldn't decipher his speech, jumbled, chaotically assembled as if trying to glean over his intentions of venturing into the endless bounds of spiritual discussion. Monika had never inquired to the origins of her spirits or probed too deeply into philosophy and fate that seemed to perform in tandem with the notions of empathy and attraction. A boundless amount of Why's splintered somewhere in her mind and whispers of a woman with eyes of broken sapphires came through the fissures, seeping into her ice laden fortifications, breaking them down. One, by one, bye one. Walls of brick, ice, cemented by detachment and self directed malice. Perfection, obsession, the need to
prove something in juncture with her very power warping deep, so deep, into the pit of her burdened heart and addled soul.
Monika's breath hitched.
"I... I don't know what you're talking about." She muttered, those eyes of glaciers and steel bound winters briefly reflecting the shattering effects within, the utterance of that word fostering guilt and bringing with it a contingent of memories of ill origin and denial. The spirits glimmering off her flesh, the peculiar shimmer that bathed Monika in harsh degrees of cold and summoned splinters of ice briefly wailed, warning accentuation, moaning threat compounded by the need of protection from the ominous crumble of her chasm of emotional discipline. And as soon as though emotes of agony and guilt shone so brightly in her eyes, they quickly dissipated, replaced with her uniform severity -
bound and tempered. "We should go, we've carried on too long." Monika adjusted the grasp on the Caladbolg, unaware and blissfully ignorant over the pain lancing through her palm, creating beads of blood through the flesh until slivers of ice crackled to fruition and life, dipping into the coffers of her life line as she all but fled from Nicholas and down the hall.
Niko stopped as Monika hurriedly pushed forward, thin ribbons of blood leaking down her tightening palm and her giant blade swaying against her movements. She had clearly been flustered by something her former sparring partner had said, but her reaction was still unexpected. For someone so together and tightly coiled to unravel that easily was interesting in and of itself. Watching her literally run away from the situation was even more intriguing, so much so that Niko muttered a jumbled word of surprise and raised an eyebrow. He had not been completely serious when he suggested that maybe something more than training gave Monika her abilities, but her rush to get away after mentioning such solidified the idea. Was it even possible?
"You're right... We've carried on much too long," Niko said to himself quietly as Monika's silhouette disappeared from view. With that, he increased his own pace from a slow stroll to a quickened march as he remembered he also needed to get to the meeting on time.
Member
Qia
TrippyNightmare
Redacted
OliveYou
Hos
Melissa
Snowdrops
TokyoPewPew
AmongHeroes
AlteredTundra
